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James tried to muffle his sounds, but all that came out was a moan. Why was that so hot?
Not that he wanted to be caught but…
This was wicked. Deviant. Someone could see them.
He swallowed hard, then swooped his tongue around Elio’s tip, because he seemed to love that. It was such a soft, fleshy cone, everything a cock should be, even at its smaller scale.
Turned out, James liked cock.
James liked Elio’s cock, because he could make Elio moan and tighten his fists, yanking on his hair until each follicle felt like there was lightning running through it, and James just wanted more.
He even loved how he could fit it all in his mouth, closing his lips to suck while he bathed it with his tongue. The perfect mouthful, just the right size. If there were any important differences between this and a cis guy’s dick, he sure couldn’t tell.
But it wasn’t just that. Or that painful, beautiful, relentless tug at his hair. Or the breathless way he had to gasp between needy sucks.
It was all of it.
Together.
Elio.
The way he smelled, raw and sweaty and masculine. The way he grunted and groaned when James did something particularly well.
The way that James didn’t even have to think, because Elio would take everything that he wanted.
“Take off your shirt,” Elio commanded.
That one was more difficult to manage—all of his coordination was focused on his mouth and the way Elio was holding his head—but eventually he got his arms out of the sleeves. He thought he’d need to get it over his head, but Elio didn’t seem concerned that it just hung around his neck.
“Look at you,” Elio said, voice warm with appreciation. He ran his hand over James’s thin, middle-aged shoulders, somehow seeming to find all of him attractive.
James heard a sharp snap overhead, and then something trailed along his back. It was a ticklish sensation, but too broad and intentional to be a leaf or something brushing against him.
With a sharp yank of his hair that sent another shower of sparks through him, Elio pulled James back from his feast.
It took him a moment to focus. Elio twirled a broken-off pine branch in his hand. It split into five or six bundles of long, drooping needles that rustled when Elio swung it. “Interested, Daddy?”
James blinked. “I’m not sure I understand.” But he had guesses. Maybe even hopes.
“You don’t?” Elio challenged him. He lifted his own arm and struck it, hard. Pink lines marked his flesh when he pulled it back. “It’s got a good sting, and I think you might like it. Want to give it a try?”
James nodded. He really did. If it was anything like the tree…
Elio gave him a hard look, like he’d forgotten something.
“Elio, please…” He wasn’t sure what to call it. There had to be a sexier and less abusive-sounding words than hit me with a stick.
“Elio, please flog me while I service you,” Elio prompted.
James moaned. Yeah, that was a lot sexier. He just had to get the words out. “Elio,” he closed his eyes, blush spreading and dick throbbing. “Please flog me while I service you.”
“Very good, Daddy. It’s alright if you decide it’s not for you. Or if you enjoy it, but it gets to be too much. Never be shy about using your safewords. What do you do if you can’t talk?”
James tapped Elio’s thigh twice.
Elio sneered, cruel and adoring all at once. “Get to work, Daddy.” Then he shoved James’s mouth back onto his cock.
James barely had time to enjoy it—that soft skin, the pulsing desire, the musky scent—before the first strike fell against his back.
